If all the flowers faded away
And if all the storm clouds decided to stay
Then you would find me
Each hour the same
She is tomorrow
And I am today
If right is leaving
I'd rather be wrong
She is sunlight
The sun is gone
Her first memory is of waking up in Metropolis General to the sound of beeping machines and the nurses prying hands. They told her not to speak, that her esophagus had been crushed. She had been found in the harbor, beaten severely and barely clinging to life. A local reporter with the Daily Planet had found her while researching a story. They said she had a strong will to live, that her heart had stopped twice, but she had come back each time. They asked her to write down her name and the phone number of her emergency contact. Panic set in when she found that she just didn't know. They told her not to give up. That she was a survivor and that to have survived such a trauma surely meant that she had a greater purpose.
She spent the next three months in the hospital recovering from her injuries. The doctors told her the memories may come back or they may not. She endured three reconstructive surgeries on her face to repair the damage the monsters had done to her. The plastic surgeon told her not to worry and assured her that she would look better than ever. The next eighteen months were spent in a rehabilitation center trying to get her mind to open up. Sometimes she had flashes of her previous life. She sees herself sitting in a cafe, blonde with a ponytail, smiling at someone. She can feel rough calloused hands gently massaging the tension away in her shoulders and soft lips pressed against her forehead, but mostly she sees his eyes, deep haunted blue eyes that stared straight into her soul and left her yearning for more. The nightmares came as well. Large, dirty fingers wrapped around her neck, squeezing; a gravelly voice yelling intelligible words as his fists strike her over and over and over. He'll come for me, she thinks. He always comes for me. He always finds me … "Hey, I'm here. You're safe …"
The first time she picks up a paint brush she paints those eyes. She hangs the painting opposite her bed so that she sees them every morning when she wakes up. They're comforting somehow and waking up to them makes her feel safe. They tell her she has talent, that it's something she should pursue; that it could help her to focus on something other than her memory loss. They call her Jane. It doesn't feel right, but she accepts it.
Three years after her accident she moves to Starling City, where a non profit has agreed to help her. They set her up in a small studio, weekly visits to a psychiatrist specializing in memory loss and art classes at SCU. She waitresses at a local diner to help with living expenses.
They tell her that her benefactor's name is Oliver Queen and that she is very lucky that he's chosen to help her. She googles him one day at the library. Headlines include "Oliver Queen Found Alive Five Years After Queen's Gambit Sinking", "Billionaire's wife, Felicity Queen, Missing", "The Prodigal Son Returns to Starling City" Wow, this guy's life was even more dramatic than hers. She feels a strange sadness sweep over her before she glances at a few of the images of him; tall, muscular build, dark blonde hair, a bit of stubble and a smile that could launch a thousand ships. She shakes her head at her own silliness … get a hold of yourself Jane … before closing out the search. She really should thank him though. After all, she wouldn't be where she is now without him.
She stares out at the skyline of the city, smile on her face and paintbrush in her hand. She loves coming up to the roof of her building to paint. She's decided to paint something for him, to show her appreciation. The skyline would be a nice piece. It takes her three days to finish, paint on her face and in her hair, but she's happy with the end result. The colors are vibrant, almost as vibrant as this city she's come to love, almost as vibrant as the blue eyes that haunt her dreams.
"Do you still dream about him?" Dr. Leshner asks, her eyebrow raised in question while jotting down notes.
Jane shifts in her seat and nods. She dreams about him nearly every night. Dreams so vivid and real that she never wants to wake up. She thinks she can live forever in those dreams, wrapped in his arms, feeling safe and at home.
His lips pepper light wet kisses along her collarbone as his fingers ghost up her sides. She moves into his touch, her legs opening to allow him closer, her inner thighs resting on his hips. Her name falls from his lips, but she can't hear it. Her hands travel over his back and she can feel his scars, angry and jagged. There are so many … why? Her fingers trace the ridges and curves of them and he moans into her mouth.
"I love you," he whispers and she thinks that her heart, body, and the whole damn universe may explode from all that she is feeling.
"Can you see his face?" she asks.
Jane shakes her head, a sob catching at the back of her throat. She doesn't know if you can love someone you can't remember, but her heart tells her … you can.
She frames the painting in a vintage gold foil frame, wraps it in brown paper and attaches the envelope with her note to the front as she heads toward the door. She stops to check herself in the mirror before leaving. Her autumn hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun secured with a pencil. A few curls have escaped framing her small face. Her lips are a bright shade of red because nothing makes her feel prettier than red lipstick. There are light freckles across her nose from a recent sunning session at the beach. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and realizes that she actually feels nervous. It's not like you're going to meet him, Jane. Just drop off the painting and head to class.
The bus drops her off directly in front of Queen, Inc. The building is huge, at least fifty stories. She stares in awe; her head tilting back and her jaw dropping. Billionaires and their buildings, she thinks giggling to herself. She checks in on the first floor.
"Your badge, Miss or do you have an appointment?" The guard looks at her sternly.
She smiles at him. "I have neither, Sir. I'm just here to drop off a package for Mr. Queen."
"What company are you from?" he says, taking out a black wand and scanning it over the package.
"I'm not from any company. The package if of a more personal nature." She tries not to look nervous in front of him and her brow furrows slightly. "Look, it's not a bomb, okay? It's just a painting."
He gives her a once over and after deeming that she posed no harm, pulled the package behind the counter. "I'll see that he gets it, Miss. Have a nice day."
"Thank you," she replies, turning on her heel and letting out a sigh of relief upon exiting the building. She looks down at her phone and sees that she has less than five minutes to catch the 130 bus to SCU. She breaks into a run when she sees the bus pulling into the stop. She bumps into a stranger mid run, hearing him grunt and sending the papers in his hand flying all around him.
"I'm sorry," she yells over her shoulder. "I'm really really sorry, but I can't stop …gonna miss the bus. I'm sorry." She bounds onto the bus, scanning her transit card on the register. She plops down on the seat with a huff and looks out the window at the poor man she had just run over. He is bent over and picking up the last of his documents. His body shifts and his head turns, glancing over his shoulder at the bus. Her eyes widen in shock. She had seen that face. The dark, blonde hair, the chiseled jaw with a slight bit of stubble. Oliver Queen. She ducked down into her seat, trying to conceal herself from the window, praying to all of the gods that he doesn't see her.
The heels of his shoes clap against the metal stairs of the Foundry; the Arrow Cave, she had called it and he smiles at the memory. The air is stagnant and large stream of light flows into the room from the window above. A layer of dust covered everything in the building. Her computers, the servers, the glass cases holding his arrows and his leathers. He closes his eyes and he can see them. Dig and Roy sparring on the matts, Felicity clicking away at her keyboard, him on the salmon ladder. "I liked watching you do that …"
They had a routine. She would put the mask on him before every mission, place a chaste kiss on his lips, take his head in her hands, look directly into his eyes and whisper, "Come back to me." and he did. There was nothing that could keep him from that, from coming home to her. His thumb rubs against the gold band on his left hand. He has never taken it off. Not once since she'd put it on him and he doesn't think he ever will. It was a promise, A promise he had made to her; a promise they had made together.
The first year was frantic. Searching, a never ending circle of searching. He was never in one place for very long. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the world was closing in on him. The second year, he retreated. To his childhood summer home in the mountains. Closing himself off to every one and everything. It was Diggle who found him, haggard and half alive.
"She wouldn't want this, Oliver. You need to get up and move on. You need to live." John had held him that night as sobs racked his body. They came regularly after that. Dig, Lyla and Sara, spending weekends bringing him back to life. Thea and Roy, too, but he lives for the night. The night, when he can close his eyes and be with her again. Where he can feel her soft skin against his rough palms. Where he can feel her pulse race as he kisses that spot on her neck, just above her collarbone. Where he can see her sitting in their bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she paints her toenails. Where he can hear her breath and feel her body arching into his as he makes love to her.
Slowly, he learned to smile again, getting caught up on the goings on at Queen Inc and taking an interest in several different charities in Starling City. His phone buzzed, bringing him back to the present and letting him know it was time to head back. He takes a final look around the room and lets his fingers slide across her keyboard.
He knocks briefly before going in. "Thea?"
"I'll be down in a sec, Ollie," she shouts from the bedroom,
The loft hasn't changed much. Thea had always had a keen sense for design. It's furnished with pieces that aren't too elegant to make it not feel homey. Picture collages and beautifully framed art decorate her walls. He glances at some of the pictures. A picture of him and Felicity dancing at their wedding, foreheads pressed together; Felicity, Thea and Lyla at the beach, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders and tongues sticking out at the camera; he and Roy with Felicity and Thea on their backs, the girls hands joined together in the air; smiles plastered on all of their faces.
"Hey, you," she says smiling. He turns surprised, not realizing that she had come into the room. He gives her is best Ollie smile and she takes his hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Let's get some lunch."
He sees her before he can react. A whirlwind of red hair, red lips, and long legs. Before he knows it, she slams into him sending his file of documents into the air. "Omph," he huffs before quickly bending down to pick up his papers before they blew away. He looks up to ask if she's okay, but she's already gone. He hears her yell an apology behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, sending a strange tingling sensation throughout his body. He shivers as he turns his head in time to see to the bus pulling away from the stop.
A/N - I's moving along :) Thank you for your reviews and feedback. It feeds my my soul and inspires my muse. Hope you enjoy the chapter!